


Thicker Than Water

by rain_sleet_snow



Series: a certain ability to recognise objects under our noses [1]
Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:05:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3149951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jasson never takes part in family quarrels, but he will for his sister's sake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thicker Than Water

          Jasson of Conté was not an early riser.

 

          Unlike his sister Vania, mother Thayet and brother Liam, who seemed to like being up at ridiculous hours, and the slightly-later-rising King Jonathan, Prince Roald and Princess Lianne, he preferred to be just blinking awake when his youngest sister was already dressed, had eaten breakfast, and was busy haunting the Riders’ barracks. This meant, of course, that he sometimes missed out on momentous events, but Jasson wasn’t really worried about that. They were very unlikely to concern him.

 

         He had gone to bed unusually late the night before, after Vania’s coming-out ball. Vania herself had looked lovely, dressed in a vivid blue, and it had been an excellent ball. Jasson had danced with his sister several times. She was a pretty good dancer, all things considered.

 

         However, Vania not having stood on his toes the previous night was not going to do much towards helping him forgive her for the rude awakening he got when the sound of a chair crashing backwards onto the floor suddenly woke him. Jasson shot bolt upright in bed to the sound of several alarmed voices and a bellowed “No, Father, I will _not_ marry _anyone_! I’m _not_ going to be like Kally, shipped off to another country before I’ve even had time to grow up! No I will _not_ see sense! Oh, damn the lot of you- _I’m going out_!”

 

          Vania was very like her father, and had impressive lungpower when she really put effort into yelling. _That_ , Jasson thought grumpily, collapsing back down to lie still in his tangled bedsheets, _was probably audible from the other side of the Palace. Wait- where’s Father’s response? Should be right about-_

 

          On cue, Jonathan of Conté shouted “You come right back, Vania! You are a princess and must behave like the young lady you’re supposed to b-“

 

          “I’d rather disown you and join the Riders!” Vania shrieked back, and Jasson heard her thundering away. She was probably already dressed for riding; Jasson counted speaking to her at the end of breakfast over a tricky issue a serious tactical error on his father’s part, because Vania, like Lianne, was perfectly capable of vanishing into the Royal Forest for hours on end and only returning when she felt like it.  

 

           Jasson heard his mother murmur something, his father reply irritably “She should get used to the idea!” and then get up and leave the table, in as bad a mood as his teenaged daughter. He suspected Shinko and Roald were eating in their private sitting-room; Vania was Roald’s favourite younger sibling, and she would doubtless have called on him to support her. Jasson would definitely have heard that.

 

           Quietly, he got up, dressed, splashed water on his face to wake himself up properly and listened for a few moments for any further vocal explosions from the remaining members of his family before slipping out into the Contés’ private sitting room. All the family’s bedroom or dressing-room doors opened into here, although there were other entrances and exits from some of the rooms. Only Lianne and Thayet remained at the round breakfast table, and as Jasson cautiously crossed the room Thayet left, looking rather agitated.

 

          Jasson took a seat at the table and reached for the toast. “What was all that about?” he asked Lianne.

 

          Lianne, who was finding her place in the book she’d pulled from under her chair when Thayet left, took a while to answer. “Father asked Nia what she thought of the new ambassador from Tyra - one of the princes, you remember – and suggested she show him round the palace, as the poor man was always getting lost - only of course it was obvious what he was getting at, and Nia blew up. Oh, and good morning to you too, lazybones.”

 

          Jasson put his head in his hands. “I really don’t think he’s noticed that Nia isn’t a lady,” he complained, ignoring the last pleasantry. “Well, she is a lady, but not a _lady_ -lady. She’s more like he’s supposed to have been as a squire. She’s a fighter, a princess like princes are supposed to be, all defend the kingdom and have a jolly good time while you’re about it. But he just doesn’t pay a blind bit of attention to her unless he needs her to do something any more. Is it just Vania, or was it like this when you told him you wanted to marry Alan and be a healer? Speaking of which, have you told Alan about that yet?”

 

          Lianne sipped her tea. “No, I haven’t mentioned that particular conversation to Alan yet, and you won’t mention it to him unless you really want a frog in your bed when you least expect it. As for Nia...” She paused, looking thoughtful, put down her book and took a mouthful of toast. Jasson waited for her to chew and swallow, and reached inelegantly over the table for the jam. Lianne rolled her eyes, and swallowed.

 

          “I did more or less have to hit Father over the head with the fact that I wasn’t going to be a pawn in his plans, ever. I had backup from Mother, besides, he wouldn’t want me to waste my Gift and you know how most foreign kings feel about marrying princesses who happen to be mages, and if he wanted to stop me seeing Alan...” She grinned, evilly. Technically since she wasn’t related to Alanna the Lioness she couldn’t have inherited any of her characteristics, but Nealan of Queenscove and many others would have sworn blind that that was Alanna’s nastiest smile to the life. “... Well, Aunt Alanna approves, and he’d have to deal with Aunt Alanna. You know how much he hates arguing with her. Apart from anything else, something always gets smashed. Besides,” she added practically, “it makes sense for at least one of us to marry among the influential Tortallan nobility, and the Bazhir consider Alan more than half one of them by adoption, so that’s good for keeping the country together.”

 

          “They like you too,” Jasson pointed out, borrowing the butterknife. “You went and learned from them. But anyway, unless I’m as deaf as a post, Nia said she didn’t want to marry anyone. What’s your marrying Alan got to do with the price of peas in Persopolis?”

 

           “Don’t put the butterknife in the _jam_ , lackwit. What it has to do with the price of peas in Persopolis is that Father didn’t notice until it was shoved under his nose, all right? He always kept an eye on Roald and Kally and Liam sort of attracted attention by turning out to be a born leader, but you and me are less eye-catching and Vania hardly makes herself obvious, does she? The Riders have practically adopted her and every servant in the palace will do exactly as she asks, but Father doesn’t know that. I bet Grandfather never knew how much of a ringleader Father was among the pages when he was younger, or everything Father got up to as a squire.” Lianne started to flick through her book again, apparently considering the question answered.

 

         Jasson, frustrated, flicked a toast-crumb at her. It landed squarely on her book. “Can you spell it out, please, in nice clear Common, for those of us who only just got up? Does Father realise he was as good as yelling at himself?”

 

         Lianne sighed, rolled her eyes, pushed the crumb carefully off her book and shut it again. “No. He doesn’t.” She started to get up, arranging her skirts.

 

         “Ohnononono,” Jasson said, waving his toast sternly at her. “I have more questions.”

 

         Lianne came as close as she ever did to stamping her foot. “What now?”

 

         “Do you know,” Jasson said carefully, slowly and clearly, “what Vania does want to do if she’s not going to marry?”

 

          “I should have thought that was obvious,” Lianne told him. “She wants to be a Rider. She did say so.”

 

           The young man’s jaw dropped, and the toast fell out of his hand to land butter side down on the table. “No. No, she can’t seriously mean that. No-“

 

          “Why not?” Lianne said sweetly. Jasson could hear the dangerous edge creeping up in her voice, but couldn’t stop himself.

 

          “It’s not- it’s not proper,” he burst out, with considerable anguish, and waited to be smote by his irate sister.

 

          His sister didn’t smite him. She merely raised one cold eyebrow and looked down on him with brown eyes which wanted to know why this small and slimy creature was disturbing her peace- a look she’d been honing ever since she was ten, and had got very good at. Jasson squirmed. “Why is it not proper?” Lianne demanded coldly. “Have you forgotten that our mother founded the Riders? In what way is it improper that the most talented of her daughters should follow in her footsteps?”

 

          Sometimes, Jasson really wished his sister hadn’t been educated as a mage. He was absolutely certain that that was how she’d learnt to squash all opposition so effectively. And what was that about most talented of her daughters? Kally had always dealt quite happily with politics both Court and international - Lianne was a very good mage - Vania, really, just ran around and got in the way.

 

          And then he suddenly realised, with a sickening thud, that not only did Vania always win riding races against him, controlled horses larger than he’d dare if he were her size with ease and confidence, and regularly outshot him, she understood tactics and strategy better than he did (why, Mother had remarked on it only the other day!) and had been hanging around the Riders since she was old enough to toddle off. Jasson groaned and slapped his hand over his face. “I’ve been an idiot!”

 

         “Agreed,” Lianne said crushingly, and swept off, all offended dignity. It would have worked better if Jasson hadn’t known that she was going to find Alan and vent by telling him everything, with accompanying gestures and yells of fury. Or, if he hadn’t reached Corus from the desert yet, by writing a long letter about everything with vicious underlining and much splattering.

 

          He finished his breakfast feeling extremely guilty.

 

***

 

         Vania managed to stay out till almost dark; she came in just as the light was fading, looking calmer and a bit tired. She must have wheedled food out of the kitchen maids, because she didn’t look hungry.

 

          No-one had gone out to look for her when she didn’t return by lunchtime; both King Jonathan and Queen Thayet had ordered it so, Queen Thayet because she believed it best that her youngest daughter and her husband be kept well apart for a while, and King Jonathan because his mind was still running on the _wretched child, she’ll have to grow up and understand this is the way things_ are track. Jasson could tell, and felt a deep pit of apprehension and fear in his heart for the clash of wills that was going to take place soon unless a miracle happened. _He’ll come round_ , he had silently comforted himself all day, not adding ‘because I know Nia won’t’, even though it was true.

 

         But the monarchs, though they had banned search parties, had forgotten to tell Jasson not to speak to Vania about it. Father had spoken with Roald, Liam and Lianne, although it was doubtful that they would obey if it really came down to it, but he hadn’t remembered Jasson. If Jasson was the sort of person who easily became embittered, that might have upset him, but he wasn’t. He was used to it, really. He never asked for anything out of the ordinary, he wasn’t rebellious at all, he just wasn’t as noticeable his brothers and sisters.

 

         So he lay in wait for Vania when he came in with her dark head slightly bowed, leading her horse and softly murmuring to it in broken but affectionate K’miri. “Nia,” he said quickly, and she looked up. Jasson saw a light of battle in her eyes, and raised his hands hastily. “No- truce. I just wanted to say... I just wanted to say...”

 

         What did I want to say? he thought, puzzled. I wanted to say something. And then he had a sudden idea, and the words spilled out. “I just wanted to say I’ll talk to Father for you. About being a Rider and that. Maybe it’ll work, I don’t know-“

 

         Vania smiled at him with weary affection, and Jasson could suddenly see why people sometimes commented that she was very like Thayet. “Thanks, Jasson.” She dropped her horse’s reins, and came over and gave him a hug.

 

         When did one of my sisters last hug me? Jasson wondered, and wrapped his arms around his sister. It was surprisingly comforting. He’d never actually felt like he had much in common with Vania before, but maybe there was something there. A shared habit of being overlooked, perhaps. They both let go, and Vania’s eyes were very serious and steady. “I’ll fight for this, Jasson.”

 

         “I know,” Jasson said, looking back at her.

 

***

 

         Later, he stood outside his father’s office. Shinko, passing him in the corridor, had told him sympathetically ‘good luck’, Lianne had smiled approvingly at him and Liam had nodded with more respect than Jasson was accustomed to getting from his brother, or from any of his siblings. He’d changed into one of his best tunics and brushed his hair. He wasn’t going back. He’d said he’d do this, and he would.

 

         He looked up at the ceiling, took a deep, steadying breath and knocked on the door.

 

        “Come in,” Jonathan of Conté called.

 

        He walked in.

 

        “Jasson!” Jonathan said, with a surprised smile.

 

         “Father,” Jasson said, and Jonathan frowned as he realised something was wrong. He wasn’t used to seeing that almost defiant look in his son’s eyes, or that tone in his voice, and had no idea what it meant. “I need your word that you won’t stir from this room, you won’t shout and you won’t dismiss me while I tell you what I’m going to tell you, you will just listen and you will think because it’s important.”

 

         “Yes, all right,” the king said, with a faint bemused curve to his lips.

 

         “Your word?” Jasson pressed.

 

        “My word.”

 

         Jasson looked at him for a few moments, judging his sincerity, and then nodded abruptly. “Then hear me now, Father, because this is the truth about Vania...”


End file.
